Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

Katiya drew back sharply and Arkas read shock on her face. She turned to look at him, horrified.

‘What is it,’ Arkas demanded. ‘How many?’

‘Many,’ Katiya mumbled. She said nothing for a few moments, before some semblance of comprehension surfaced. The elder flicked a look at the bird and then back to Arkas. ‘She said she could not count so many. More cursed ones than there are trees in the forest.’

It took some time for Arkas to traverse the city for a look at the incoming army. Whole areas were inaccessible to him and his warriors due simply to their size. Many of the watch-mounds were equally impassable, and when he eventually found his route towards the river curtailed again he was forced to speak with Katiya.

‘I must take my warriors above ground,’ he told her. ‘I have to see the nature of what we face.’

‘It is not our way,’ Katiya insisted, a saying she had used several times in the fraught journey across the City of Ice. ‘We do not allow them to see our numbers or place.’

‘They will not see you at all. My Stormcasts will face this threat and you will remain in the tunnels.’

‘You do not understand, you cannot face an army like this. You are too few.’

‘We are Stormcast Eternals, forged by Sigmar in the celestial fires of the heavenly sphere. Into us is poured the wisdom and skill of the Six Smiths. We are armoured with sigmarite, the undying strength of the God-King made real. Our weapons are the breaking storm of vengeance. There is no foe we cannot face.’

‘An army greater than the trees of the forest!’ Katiya was on the verge of tears. To her it seemed her hopes had been raised and cruelly dashed in the passing of an afternoon. ‘How can you prevail against so many cursed ones?’

‘I do not place much trust in the counting of ravens,’ Arkas replied, his temper fraying. ‘I will lead my warriors back to the surface even if I have to call a storm and blast a hole through the ice!’

Shocked at the thought, Katiya was torn between two minds. He could see the uncertainty written on her face where there had been such conviction. Arkas crouched, resting his hammer across his thighs. He spoke softly, as a father might to a distraught daughter.

‘We will prevail. Across Ghur, across all of the Mortal Realms, the armies of the Stormhosts have struck back against the darkness of destruction and Chaos. Where we bring the light of Sigmar, evil cannot stand. We have come to Ursungorod to liberate you. The nightmare is coming to an end.’ He laid a hand gently on her quivering arm. ‘Trust me. Trust yourself. You saw the return of Arka Bear-clad, and I have come. Together we will deliver our people from the horror and tyranny of the Chaos Gods.’

Katiya sighed, looking tired and old. She wrapped an arm around his massive limb and laid her cheek upon the armour.

‘It is warm,’ she murmured. ‘I thought it would be cold.’

‘The power of our forging still burns within us,’ Arkas explained.

He waited for some time, allowing her to hold his arm, drawing strength from his presence.

‘I need you, Katiya,’ he told her. She looked up, confused.

‘But you are the Bear-clad, Arka the Uniter. All of our people are yours to command.’

‘To command, yes, but not to lead. You are their leader. When we have delivered Ursungorod I cannot remain. I am Stormcast, beholden to the will of Sigmar. It is not our fate to make homes and have family. It is to you we must look for the building of a new future, and others like you that cling to resistance and freedom across the Mortal Realms. I need you to lead your people and I will command mine.’

Nodding, she released her grip and stepped back. Her eyes were moist but her jaw was set with determination.

‘I have to prepare,’ she told him.

She gestured to one of the Ursungorans close at hand. The denizens of the City of Ice had been gathering in their war-packs, ready for the defence of their homes. The man she signalled was rangy, his face stubbled with blond hair. He wore a full hauberk of mail and a breastplate; he carried a tall helm under his arm, and a long-hafted axe was strapped to his back. He might have been one of Arka’s stratzari in a different age.

‘This is Ajfor, one of my grandsons,’ Katiya said. ‘Ajfor, show the Uniter to the north sally tunnels by the Chasm of Sighs. He wishes to see the army coming from the Black River.’

‘It is my honour,’ said Ajfor, eyes fixed widely on Arkas. Eventually he dragged his gaze away. He picked up a pack and a silver-headed spear, and indicated for Arkas to follow him through one of the archways.

‘I must assemble my warriors first,’ Arkas told Katiya.

‘It would be better if you went alone,’ she replied. ‘Secrecy is still our best defence. Our only defence, truthfully. If the cursed ones cannot find the entrances to the City of Ice, they cannot attack.’

Arkas considered this and could not fault the logic, or the proof that the Ursungorans had survived when countless others had not, though part of him was reluctant. His unease formed into something more solid.

‘I cannot defend the City of Ice if I do not know the field of battle. I need a map, so that I can see where to place my warriors, where we can manoeuvre and counter-attack.’

‘There are no maps,’ Katiya said, brow knotting. She tapped the side of her head. ‘All that we need to know is kept here. It cannot be stolen, cannot be lost or looted from here. We do not allow ourselves to be taken alive. Only those that grew up in the City of Ice know its ways.’

‘Then I cannot fight underground,’ Arkas said.

‘I will give you guides,’ said Katiya. ‘They know the routes, the ambushes and escapes.’

‘That will not work,’ Arkas said with a shake of his head. ‘There are passages where my warriors cannot fight but your tactics do not allow for that. We are too large for this tunnel-fight. Your people are put at risk if they must stay with us, and the enemy will use the narrow ways against us. If I cannot see a map, I cannot make a plan.’

A resolution started to form in Arkas’ thoughts, coalescing from various threads of doubt and questions about the City of Ice.

‘You have it wrong, Katiya,’ he declared. ‘You cannot have me thinking like an Ursungoran, I am a commander of the Stormcasts. The Chaos corrupted do not come here for you, they seek my army. I shall give it to them, on the surface where we can fight in the open. We are not a guerrilla force, to hit and run from shadows. It is for this purpose we came to Ursungorod, to be the flame that lights the beacon of fresh hope. We will not skulk in tunnels and caves and expect you to fight the battle for us.’

‘There are far too many for us to fight,’ said Katiya, fearful at the thought. ‘Skulking and hiding has seen us survive for long years, Uniter.’

‘My words were not meant as an insult,’ Arkas replied quickly. He lowered to one knee and leaned close so that she could see his intent in his eyes. ‘What you have achieved is incredible, Katiya. Almost miraculous. That is why we must do this my way. Our coming is to liberate you, not doom you. It would dishonour the sacrifice of all those that came before if I allowed the darkness to consume what you have protected for so long. We will fight on the surface and we will kill many, many of the cursed ones. If it is our fate to fall in that fight, so be it. We are Stormcasts, we will be reforged.’

He did not think of the price of Reforging. The memory of becoming a Stormcast, of passing under the hammers of the Six Smiths, was vague but full of pain. Every time a Stormcast was remade, they lost a piece of themselves, and Sigmar too gave up a fragment of his power. The God-King had diminished himself to create his armies, and this crusade would be the one that brought victory or defeat, conquest or oblivion. There would be no retreat to Azyr next time, no quiet centuries to build and prepare. The Stormcasts were heralds of the final war that would decide the fate of all, mortals and gods alike.